Great Balls of Fire!
by kkolmakov
Summary: John Thorington is a station officer of his fire service team, and one day in the flames he receives a gift he didn't ask for. What is he to do with a small redhead who claims she is from a place called Middle Earth and doesn't know how a toaster works? [Thorin X my usual OC, Wren] Four chapters and later potentially a collection of drabbles.
1. Catch Fire

**A/N: Christmas music and excessive biscuits make me giddy and fluffy! And you know by now, what chocolate does to me :) This story is just a four-piece fluff with a bit of sexy at the end. I am considering occasionally writing drabbles about this pairing, just because Thorin/John's profession in this one tickles my pickle and Wren is such an endearing version in here, innocent and curious :) The drabbles will be added at the end of the story, although they will probably take place all over their timelime. **

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><p>The fire is big, it's growing fast, and it's one of those chip pan ones. It has moved into the third flat by the time they got there. He sends Phil and Killian to the ground floor, and he and Dwalinson swing axes and bash on through the door into the corner flat.<p>

In the middle of the smoky, burning living room there is a mental silver cloud, and John has no better word for it but 'portal.' It is wobbly, looks like mercury puddle suspended vertically, and John yells to Dwalinson, "Tell me you see it too!"

"Aye, and losh michty me!" Dwalinson makes a step towards the thing, and John grabs his sleeve.

At that moment the cloud thing wavers, and a small figure falls out of it, after which the barmy portal thing makes a hissing sound and disappears. The person on the floor is an ickle young woman, in a long medieval looking dress, dark green, her ginger hair in heavy braids. Dwalinson emits a long tirade full of "crivvens," mentioning of several deities and convoluted descriptions of male reproductive organs. John steps to the woman and rolls her on her back. She is pale, freckled and doesn't look like an alien. He doesn't know why he expected something from _Avatar_. The film was shite anyroad.

At that moment something loudly snaps in the ceiling, and it's time to go. He picks her up from the floor, she weighs nothing, a slender arm falls limp, and he notices small hands and silver rings.

He passes her to the medics, and he has a job to do. They rush back into the building, and at the stairs he presses the hand into Dwalinson's chest. "Not a word to a single living soul!"

"Help me Boab, why would I share this?!"

"Fair enough," John nods, and they join Bofurson at the HGV platform.

* * *

><p>The same evening he comes to the hospital to check up on her. Dwalinson politely declines, meaning he scowls and asks, "Are you takkin me on?"<p>

She is sitting on the bed, in the hospital garb, her extraordinary hair in one braid. He quickly remembers Rapunzel. The braid is probably below her waist. Her mouth is half open, and it seems she has forgotten how to breathe. She is staring into TV with _Naked Jungle _rerun.

He knocks at the door frame, she jumps up, squeaks and pulls the duvet to her chin. She has unusual eyes, slanted and of some strange colour, and right now they are probably twice the normal size.

"Hi, I'm John. I was on the fire team that got you out of the building." How does one ask an ickle cute ginger if she is an alien? She is biting into her bottom lip and blinks several times frantically. "What is your name?" The nurses told him she hardly spoke since they brought her there, she is unscathed physically, no ID, just a barmy dress, strange underwear and little leather slippers. No vaccination marks, but she is completely healthy.

"Wren," she has a soft voice, and he makes a step inside her room. "My name is Wren." She has an accent but it's nothing he can identify. Something from the Isles though.

"Nice to meet you." He has nothing. He spend the whole drive here coming up with smart remarks, and he is tongue tied. Suddenly she gestures on a chair near her bed, and he sits.

"Were you present there when I… arrived?" Oh so they are talking about it. Rad.

"Yes. There was a silver cloud in the middle of the room, you fell out, it closed. Where did you arrive from exactly?"

"We call it Arda. How do you call this place?" She gestures around herself, and then another naked backside on the screen catches her eyes, and she blushes. It looks adorable, like red watercolour suddenly spilling on her cheekbones.

"Do you want me to change a channel?" He offers helpfully, and she tears her eyes off the telly, with difficulty, although she seems to be equally trying not to see anything as well, and her remarkable eyes meet his. Suddenly her face wavers, and her lips twist. She is fighting tears, but then takes a deep breath and grounds herself. John is grateful, he has low tolerance to crying women.

"John," her bright red lips wrap around his name, and it tickles his spine, "I will be honest with you. Nothing around me is… familiar. I do not understand anything that is transpiring here. This," she lifts her hand and points at the telly, "And this," she point at the lamp on the side table, "We have candles for that. And we do not have horseless carriages, and we heal with herbs and not the small white coins they told me to swallow." Her face is suddenly miserable. "I am terrified, and I cannot tell anybody anything because no one will believe me. Were it the opposite, I would not believe a person claiming they live in a world of white walls and magical crates with moving paintings."

"I believe you." Her eyes fly up to his face, and she smiles to him shakily. He would like to say he is curious or feels sorry for her, but he is a Thorington, deceit is cowardice, at least such was the motto his Victorian baronet of an ancestor had on his family crest. He took a fancy to her the moment she looked at him.

* * *

><p>A fortnight later he picks her up from the rehab and takes her to his flat. He visited her almost every day, and she looked so miserable that he felt like grabbing her like a rugby ball and running out with her under his arm. They cut off her amazing hair, it's just down to the shoulders now, and she looked so pale and hacked off in the grey tee and soft bottoms they gave her that on the drive to his place he stops by a shopping center. She looks instantly terrified, but he drags her into H&amp;M and commands a shop assistant to go slow but take proper care of her. He is large, has an authoritativeness of the station manager and has a certain presence, people listen to him.<p>

Half an hour later his ginger comes out of the shop in cute denim and a long soft jumper, her cheeks rosy from pleasure, and he realises she keeps on catching her reflection in shop windows. They buy her shoes as well, she has size two, and she blushes even more from compliments and attention. By then all he can think about is how fit she is, and to give himself at least some breather from imagining how her lips might taste and how his fingers would feel buried in her mad curls he sends her into lingerie shop alone, while he is nervously smoking outside. It's starting to snow, and he considers sticking his head into a drift.

Through the whole time in the rehab she didn't complain once but with each day she was more and more apathetic. Her eyes were becoming dull, and he just blurted out to her that she should come stay with him. She started mumbling her usual wordy arguments, but he could see how desperately she wanted to escape the grey building and the food which made him want to end himself in right there. He explained to her it was called 'lodgers' and that men and women were flatmates in his world all the time, and she grabbed his hand and said 'yes, John, please, I do want to flatmate with you.' He realised that if she ever says 'John, please' again he'd probably agree on virtually anything. John, please, would you be so kind as to kick a live lion and stick your head in its muzzle? Yes, Wren, darling, anything for you. And he would probably immediately google the nearest zoo.

They arrive to his flat, he has prepared the spare room. Through the drive she was clutching the handle on the door, she has an obvious barney with cars, and then his mobile rang, and she jumped up with a squeal. Yeah, _Top Gear_ ringtone was a wee bit too much for her frenzied nerves.

She comes in and stands by the door, fidgeting with the handles of her shopping bags. He decisively pulls them out of her small hands and grabbing the delicate little fingers he pulls her on a tour around the flat. She is shell shocked, and all she does is nods. He realises she is close to conking out, and he shows her to her room. He bought a bed the day before, and bedding, and a lamp, and she is staring at it. She also has her own bathroom, and he shows her into it too. She mumbles that they have explained to her what shower is in the rehab. And this, she says, and points at the loo. Her cheeks are burning again, and he gives her her privacy.


	2. Fire in Belly

He took his vacation days, and for the next few days he feels like a babysitter of a very curious toddler. After the initial stupour his ginger decided that he was Wikipedia and the most frequently used word in his flat now is 'how.' How does fridge get cold air in, how do the sardines get into a can, how, how, how, with occasional 'what' and 'why.' He can't handle it anymore, and he turns on telly for her, making sure there is no nudity or violence on it. She still shivers from the memories of an episode of _Game of Thrones_ she was unfortunate to watch in the rehab.

Although that might be because it was too close to home. She had shortly described to him her home, the Middle Earth as she called it, and yeah, pretty much _GoT_ but with less nudity. He suspects though that maybe it's just she is a bit of a prude. He finds it endearing. She blushes when he takes off his hoodie. Apparently short sleeves fluster her, it's hilarious.

She needs to return to the rehab twice a week, for professional placement training, and he drives her there the first time. He goes to a coffee shop and waits for her to be done. She comes out beaming with pride. She is just in general rather chuffed these days, apparently she likes all possible jobs they have to offer to her.

She also seems more comfortable in his flat, and she quickly learns to handle the kettle and the toaster. The stove still puzzles her, as well as groceries in plastic bags but she turns out to be a very good cook, and he now has to go to gym two times a week more, because she bakes. Bless, she does. All she cooks is strangely reminding him of what his Nana's cook used to serve on Christmas. It's all roasted meat with herbs and vegetables, and seedcakes and tarts, and soon they will laugh at him the same way they were taking a piss at Gloinson when he got married and started gaining weight.

* * *

><p>"Wren, can you read?" He is taking off his jacket, home after his shift, she is folding one of her new tees she pulled off a clothes airer.<p>

"Yes, in Common Speech, Sindarin, Quenya, a bit of Khuzdul," she stutters, "Oh, I forgot." She blushes, and he reminds himself that snogging her now would be abusing his position.

"The language we speak now, it is English here, do you read in it?"

"Yes," she smiles to him softly, and he pulls out a book out of his bag. It is a children's natural history book, and she grabs it and presses it to her chest as if he gifted her with a diamond tiara. Her eyes are shining, and he now knows why all those knights were putting on their daft shining armour. For this exact look. "Oh John… Books… There is nothing like books..."

He pretends he is in a rush to go to loo. He could withstand her smiles, and pitter patter of her tiny feet around his flat, and her fingers brushing to his when she would put a cuppa in front of him. Adoration in her amber coloured irises is beyond his capacity.

* * *

><p>"What is an ounce, John?" He loves it when she says his name.<p>

"It's a unit of measurement," he looks at her over the lid of his Mac. She is reading a cookbook he bought for her today. There are three seconds of silence.

"And what is al dente?" She reads it with her funny vaguely British accent.

"It is when you cook pasta but it's still sticky in the middle." She nods, but once he goes back to the Manchester United official page, he can still feel her eyes on him. "Yes, Wren?"

"What is pasta?" He gives it a thought.

"Wren, can you come here for a mo?" She readily jumps off the li-lo and runs up to him. He gives himself a mental slap to stop imagining her sitting down on his lap, and he lets her take his chair. She is staring at the screen. He thinks he doesn't like how she looks at Juan Mata, and he quickly closes the tab. "This is a mouse, Wren. You put your hand on it and it moves the arrow on the screen."

"How?" Oh bugger.

"Not the point right now, Wren. So you pull the arrow here and click." She makes an adorable clicking sound with her tongue. He suppresses thoughts of her tongue and turns to her to correct her. Her eyes are mischievous, and he understands she just took a jolly mickey out of him. John thinks they should give him a medal for self-control. The corners of her lips are twitching. He needs a cold shower. "So, you push this button and it opens… unfolds on the screen… and then over here you type what you need to know. It's called Google and it knows way more than I do."

* * *

><p>They get her a job in a post office, and John feels like interfering. Surely there were some better options. But again, she is cheery as a lark about it. She says she likes that people send each other parcels, and it's near Christmas time, and she tells him at dinners about Grannies sending mitts and chocolates, and how a girl was picking up her mail today and there was a teddy there, and it's so nice that there are such lovely toys for children in this world, and he is hardly listening, because she is smiling and looks so happy.<p>

She brings her first salary home and pushes the check in his hand. He feels like objecting, but he already knows her well. She is a proud little thing, and he did say she was to be his lodger. They start splitting bills, and she even buys herself some little things. They are mostly books, but sometimes he notices bags from lingerie stores in the recycling bin. He considers installing a freezer in his room for more convenient sticking his head in ice water.

* * *

><p>He comes home, she is sitting at the table, it smells like lasagna in the air, and she is frowning at the screen.<p>

"Evening, Wren." She lifts her eyes and immediately her face is lit up with a wide smile. Recently John started refusing overtime. Everyone is laughing at him, but he doesn't give a shite. Yes, he is like a newlywed, he wants to go home early, and he is grinning a lot recently, even without the obvious benefits of being newlywed. That part is actually becoming painfully uncomfortable. Especially after they bought her shower gel and body lotion with lilacs fragrance and he now catches it in the bathroom.

"Hi!" She is smiling widely to him. The top of her head hardly reaches his clavicles, and recently he started hallucinating that she seems to be standing closer to him when he comes home.

"How was your day?"

"I learnt a few new recipes and just finished sixteenth century of your history. It is very… discomforting." He loves her cautious choice of words, and that most of them are longer than five letters. He takes off his shoes and starts pulling off his jacket. "Did you know that in sixteenth century not only nobility but also the middle class of merchants, wrights, inn keepers and the like, would occasionally enjoy the fine arts, for example the theater. Blood sports were popular - including bear baiting, bull baiting, dog or cock fights and the like. Travelling troupes of actors entertained the masses. Enterprising bards would settle and build theaters - such as William Shakespeare's Globe Theater in London, according to _The Old Globe Theater History_ published in 2005." John has been frozen one arm out of a sleeve for quite a while now.

"Wren, are you quoting Wikipedia?"

"Yes," she is looking at him in confusion. He tumbles into the flat shaking off the jacket on the way and opens the page hastily.

"Say it again!"

"Say what again?" She looks worried, and he waved his hand in the air impatiently.

"The whole thing, the Globe thing, and the dates!" She obediently repeats, and he checks. She is correct to a word. "Wren! How much text can you remember like that?" She shrugs, she has sussed out he is not upset with her.

"Ten pages maybe. I remember it for a few days, but the dates and names stay for a few years. Is it important?"

"Important?! Wren, you have photographic memory! Surely it can be applied to something better than to licking stamps!" Not thinking about licking, John! "We need to talk to your supervisor."

* * *

><p>She is tested and her IQ hits the top level of 165. She is asked what career she would like to choose, and she answers "a librarian" before they finish the question. She is placed in college, but she insists on continuing working in the post office. He knows she is fussy about the money, he respects it.<p>

She becomes his usual plus one. She quickly meets everyone at the station, and she is immediately great friends with his nephews who work with him. Altogether they become the best of mates, and he starts thinking that's what hell must feel like. Were she any other bird he'd made his move long ago, but with their history he'd be abusing her trust. And they live together. And she knows nothing about dating. And she is probably a virgin. Not thinking about this, John.

They celebrate Christmas with his family, she spent weeks fussing over presents, he finds it adorable. He opens the neatly wrapped box and finds ATH-CKX9iS in it. What, she is a techno geek now? He decides that he a massive idiot and is wasting time while the perfect woman is right in front of him. He has now set his mind on finally pulling himself together and asking her out, he just needs to suss out a way to do it so she didn't feel pressured but still hopefully agreed. For now he allows himself one kiss on her soft fragrant cheek, a copper curl brushes his nose, and he grinds his teeth. It's time to act.


	3. Trial by Fire

Three days later he is ready to bash his head to the table. She is sitting in her warm PJ with happy looking penguins on the li-lo reading something on his Mac. He has gone through about three thousand scenarios in his head and threw all of them aside. He opens his mouth to breach the topic when she points at the table without lifting her eyes.

"Phil sent you the invitation." He closes his mouth with a clank of teeth and picks up the envelope. It's for Phil's stag night, there is a handwritten note added at the end. Phil's fiancee, Bri Davis is Septic and has a peculiar sense of humour. The family adores her Southern sass. _Look after me darlin'. __I don't care if'n he gets three sheets to the wind, you keep them hogs in short skirts offa my man and bring him home in one piece, y'hear?!_

John is laughing at the writing, and then he notices that Wren is studying him. He cocks a brow questioningly, and she chews at her bottom lip.

"I haven't read it obviously… But then Bri rang on my mobile telephone and asked to make sure you read it. And she has once again emphasized the importance of 'keepin them barracudas at bay', which I assume means she is concerned about unwanted advances from loose women towards her betrothed." John chuckles. "She also mentioned 'hussies in high heels,' and once I expressed my confusion she enlightened me on the common practise of adult entertainment consisting of women taking off their garments in an alluring way in front of males."

There is a nuclear explosion in John's head, and he feels like pumping his fist in the air and congratulating himself on being a pure genius. Because for once in the history of men not being able to keep up with a woman he actually doesn't behave like a thick Neanderthal like most of his mates in gender and actually for once understands a woman in front of him. She is jealous. She is sitting on their li-lo, and yes, everything in their flat has become theirs long ago, and she is calm and collected, and there is even a pleasant polite expression on her cute face, but she is as jealous as it gets.

He is an adrenaline junkie, they all are, it runs in the family plus they are firefighters after all, and he feels the familiar surge of chemicals into his veins. That's the moment! It feels like that time when he and Killian were standing on a burning roof, and it fell through underneath them, and there was that one instant when he didn't know where they could jump far and fast enough to save their sorry arses, and he could almost feel that moment when there was nothing but emptiness under his feet.

He wants to jump at the chance, but on the other hand for once in his life it matters, and he hits the brakes. He can't ruin this, he needs to be smart for once. He slowly puts the envelope back on the table and sits near her on the li-lo. She is pretending to be reading something on the screen again, but since her eyes are not dashing on the page like they always do in her speed reading she is faking it. He tells himself it's a good thing.

"Do you oppose to the exotic dancers in general, Wren? I mean where you're from surely they had..."

"It's degrading for women," she interrupts him, her eyes are burning, and his heart drops. Bugger, not jealous then, just a neophyte feminist. "And Bri said that some of those women provided more than visual stimulation. Her exact words were 'some o' them girls let 'em play with boobs n all, inside and out'," her voice breaks on the 'boobs' of course and colour spills on the cheeks, but now he is once again sure as hell this is not the righteous indignation of a freshly converted suffragette.

"Oh, I assure you, Wren, the high class entertainers we hired would never fall as low as allowing any physical contact." And bingo! She hisses and pushes his Mac in his hands. She makes a few spasmodic flapping moves with her arms, she always needs extra effort to get out of the li-lo, and stomps into her room.

* * *

><p>He knocks at the door but there is no answer. "Wren, is everything OK?"<p>

"Yes, everything is alright," her voice is nasal, and he feels like a wanker. She is crying!

"Wren, can I come in please?"

"No, I am sorry… I am… not dressed..." She is a ridiculously bad liar.

"Wren, I know I have upset you, can we please talk?" There is something that suspiciously sounds like sobbing, and he carefully bangs his head to the door frame. He doesn't care much for not hurting the noggin, but he wouldn't want her to think he is trying to smash her door. "Wren, please… I feel horrible here. And I was joking about strippers! We hired fire eaters, given they are female, but they are fully clothed! Wren..." He now realises he was a bellend. Instead of taking responsibility and directly telling her about his feelings, he was testing hers and made her cry. He goes for three more careful thuds of his head into the doorframe.

And then the door opens and she is standing in front of him. Her eyes are puffy and red, and he feels hundred times worse.

"That was unfair," her tone is firm, and he drops his head. "I did not expect you to be so cruel and enjoy embarrassing me. You are aware I do not understand your world, and surely there was no need to diminish me thusly."

"I am sorry..." He wants to touch her, but that would be exactly the abuse of trust he has been keeping in his mind this whole time.

"Why did you do it?" He looks at her, she is frowning, her eyes are searching his face. "You have always been so considerate..." That makes it worse. How is he supposed to start professing his feelings now, she has just told him he behaved like a moron with her for the first time?! She sniffs and plods back into her room. She heavily sits on her bed, and he stays in the door. She hasn't invited him in. "I have been pondering it for a while, John. I did not understand it before, but recently I am more familiar with the customs of your world and I understand how inconvenient our arrangement must be for you. I am grateful, do not misunderstand me, but today's incident just once again reminds me that you are a man of flesh and surely my presence in your flat is not beneficial for your..." She stutters, "Intimate pursuits. I believe you are too noble to ask me to vacate your dwelling, but I can clearly imagine how after the celebratory events you might wish to return here in a company of… another person..." She continues talking, but he stops listening. Man up, Thorington.

"Wren, I am living with you because I don't want to live with anyone else."

She freezes with her mouth half open and stares at him. He throws propriety aside, comes in and kneels in front of her. Her small hands are on her lap and he has wanted to do it for so long! He picks them up, the fingers are long and strong and cool, and he presses her knuckles to his lips. His mind is working fast. Should he aim for some sort of medieval-ish wooing since she is from some barmy equivalent of Middle Ages Britain? He opens his mouth, lifts his eyes, but nothing comes out. Her eyes are wide open and his red lips are right in front of him, and a pathetic 'um' is all he manages.

Thankfully, she has an oversized brain, and she is the perfect woman for him, so while he is gathering his wits she lunges ahead and presses her lips to his. One semi-alive thought thrashes in his noggin that even in his wildest fantasies, and yes, he had plenty, he is a man, he properly underestimated how ace that would be. He also sort of didn't expect her to spread her knees and pull him closer by his ears. And then he definitely didn't expect those very long, shapely pins of hers to wrap around him. And there he thought she was a prude and a pure innocent flower! She is unbuttoning his shirt, and he makes a strange croak like noise in his throat. Not that he complains of course, but what?!


	4. Lovely Way to Burn

**A/N: This is the last chapter, my duckies! But there are already four or five drabbles drafted :) So stay tuned! Most of them will take place between Wren moving in with him and them getting together. It's the fun part isn't it? Poor John :)**

**They will be called "Middle Earth Wren vs... something something" :D **

**The first one has a promising name of "Middle Earth Wren vs Orgasm" and will be posted in a few days :) Reviews are adored and anticipated :P**

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><p>He is spread on the floor, she has gained unrestricted access to his chest, couple of the buttons from his shirt were propelled through the room, and now her deft little hands are clawing at him, which seems to make her very, very chuffed. Her lips are travelling lower, and he is panting. And then one little cool hand slides under the belt of his trousers, down into his pants, and he jolts under her ministrations. She is placing little bites on his chest and is making some soft noises that sound suspiciously like purring.<p>

This is _not_ the behaviour of the gentle dove he was holding her for! And then the buckle clicks, and the zipper opens, and he starts battering his hands on the floor. She is like a Type F fire, her hands and lips are everywhere, and she is so obviously enjoying it that it takes him couple minutes to stop passively lying like a blob fish and finally start doing something! He finally shakes of his flabberghasted stupour and picks her up under her arms and drags her along his body aligning their eyes.

"Wren, I am in love with you, do you hear me?" He needs to make sure she knows because now that his brain is sort of working again, his libido will wake up too and there will be no talking. She smiles widely to him.

"That is fortunate, John, I would hate to have unrequited feelings for you." Apparently in her brainy talk that's 'back at you' and he drops her on his chest.

Pretty quickly it becomes obvious he needs to educate her on modern contraception methods. For that he ends up depositing her on the floor and rushing into bathroom. He only hopes the Durex box hasn't expired. He stumbles, falls, hits his knee to the edge of the bath, swears, grabs the box and runs back. All of which is endlessly uncomfortable with the giant wood he is faring.

She is sitting on the bed now, in her knickers and PJ top, and she is so chill that he freezes in the doors. On one hand, he was a competitive diver in school and at the moment the concepts of the 'approach,' 'flight' and 'entry' are gaining a very interesting new meaning for him, and he can jump from the door and be on that bed in two seconds. On the other hand, that's the woman he wants to spend his whole life with. He climbs on the bed and cups her face.

"Wren, have you ever done this before?" Something tells him that her enthusiastic efforts from before are more her natural libidinousness than experience, and she blushes and her teeth sink into the bottom lip in the usual gesture.

"I had a lover... One, long ago… It was…" He is holding his breath, "Unsatisfactory." Oh here he is in his element alright! Imagining her properly satisfied has been his most favoured pastime since the day she moved into his flat.

* * *

><p>She is giggling, and on one hand, the silver merry sound tickles his spine, on the other hand, she is giggling at his cock.<p>

"Forgive me, John, it is not the organ that is the source of my frolics, it is this little… coat," she is pondering the Durex, her head is tilted and her eyes run along his todger. Everything was going ace, they were rolling on the bed, they took off her top and knickers, she was panting, and he finally tasted everything he had dreamt about. And then one more time. And she was purring and running her hands on his chest, her preferences had become obvious quite quickly, but the rest of him got enough attention as well, thank you very much. She is enthusiastic, curious, inventive, and gleeful. He's never had a woman like that, she is artless, and he starts thinking she has wanted it for a while too. And then while she is mewling through her third crisis he breaches the subject of protection. She listens attentively and nods, but the Durex is on and now she is giggling. He feels like a plonker, the Durex is red.

"I don't know why they are colourful, I am sure I didn't buy colourful ones..." His voice is uncertain, and she roars with laughter and falls back on the bed. He gives it a thought. He has a woman who laughs in bed. After all, it's not the worst there, to think of it. She doesn't pretend to be femme fatale, doesn't behave like she is in porn, and her loud moans are completely genuine. He might as well just enjoy her giggles.

"There are those ones that glow in the dark," he purrs and starts crawling towards her on the bed. "We can turn off the light, and it will be like a lightsaber..." He cocks an eyebrow, and she is snorting. She did like _Star Wars_ a lot.

"May the Schwartz be with you!" She announces. Yeah, she now gets _Spaceballs_ jokes too. He is between her legs, and she wraps her arms around him, smiling softly. He hums and starts kissing her beautiful neck. "John? I am slightly troubled that you underestimate the size of your Schwartz." She is asking him to be gentle. He shouldn't but he feels immediately smug. She is probably saying it to compensate for laughing at his cock, and her stroking his ego is obvious, but that's why he loves her, among million other things. She says just the right words at the right moment.

"We'll take it one step at a time." He wants to say something more, let her know how much he loves her, and how important she is, but she grabs his ears and pulls him down. Talking time is over.

* * *

><p>In the morning John brings a tray with breakfast to bed, and putting it on her side table he starts rummaging in the cloud of duvet in search of a little warm body. There is giggling, and a tiny foot kicks his palms. He is relentless, and soon he discovers a pair of adorable knees. He grabs the legs and pulls towards him, diving under the duvet at the same time.<p>

They are kissing, she is relaxed and playful, and he is in Heaven. They resurface for air, her cheeks are rosy, and he is nibbling at a small burning ear. Her fingers are in his chesthair, clawing and playing with black curls, and then she purrs, "If we were in Middle Earth you would be a Dwarf." He pauses, previously nuzzling her neck, moves away and looks at her from under a lifted brow.

"What? I think you will agree I'm pretty wide and surprisingly tall for a Dwarf." She giggles. "How tall are the rest of you there? And what does it make you? A pixie?"

"There are no pixies in Middle Earth, at least I am not aware of them, and you would obviously be much shorter, but this..." A tiny index finger draws a swirl on his chest, "That is definitely very Dwarven."

"And is this a good thing?" He is six four, he is not sure if he'd enjoy being a Dwarf. But her sensual purring regarding the subject tells him the Dwarves where she is from do not look like Sneezy or Dopey.

"Well, they are rather cantankerous and somewhat grumpy, but I always found their race fascinating. I even learnt a bit of their secret language, Khuzdul." She is good with languages, she has learnt Spanish on her own and is currently venturing into German. "It is majestic. All throaty consonants and rumbly intonations. Sounds much better in a male voice of course." She climbs on him, she proved to be fond of taking the reins last night, not that he minds, and the hot greedy mouth is moving down his sternum. "Bakn galikh."

"Bakn galikh?" He repeats, closing his eyes. Her strong little hands have travelled North, and using the same metaphor as last night his Schwartz is currently receiving a treatment of its 'upside' and 'downside.' She hums approvingly.

"It does sound so much better in your voice. It means _Good morning._" He finds it very hard to concentrate. "Izul kuthu ganagsu undu mud sagnigi uru."

"Izul kuthu ganagsu… what?" His head is spinning.

"Izul kuthu ganagsu undu mud sagnigi uru."

"And what does it mean?" Her red head disappears under the duvet, and he hears giggling and a muffled answer.

"_Only when you cannot go under must you go over._"

"OK, that's it, you've done it," he growls and dives after her.

* * *

><p>They get married in Summer, and she looks lovely in a vintage 50s dress and a small hat with dotted veil on her fiery curls. Peggy Lee's <em>Fever<em> is their wedding song, and she agrees that indeed, "Thou givest fever, when we kisseth/ Fever with thy flaming youth/ Fever! I'm on fire/ Fever! Yeah, I burn forsooth…" and he murmurs in her ear, "What a lovely way to burn..."

They go to Zhangzhou Zhangpu Island for their honeymoon, because, as he jokes, since this was to start in fire, a volcanic island is the most perfect location.


	5. Middle Earth Wren vs Orgasm

**A/N: And here starts the drabble bonanza :D**

**Most of them, including this one, take place between the time Wren moves into John's flat and before they get together. I think we all know why this time is most fun ;)**

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><p><span>Middle Earth Wren vs Orgasm<span>

_In a queue in a grocery shop..._

"John?" Wren's soft whisper shakes him out of absent-minded studying of batteries displayed on a till. He hums questioningly.

"What are these thin books? The colourful ones?"

"They are magazines, Wren. They are light reading."

"They do look light."

"No, it means… It means they do not require mental effort. If they were food, they'd be meringues. Most of them are for women. There are fashion ones, and work-out ones for men, there are cars ones..." She is pondering them for a while, he is watching her reaction. She quickly shifts her eyes away from a gossip one, the amount of tits apparently flustered her, The Sun makes her nose wrinkle, he is with her on that, he also wouldn't want to see "Worst Plastic Surgery Disasters," and then her eyes fall on Cosmo. Keira Knightley is at least mostly covered, but John understands Wren is more interested in "25 Items Every Woman Has to Have in Her Wardrobe." Or perhaps… Wren's eyes are running over the cover again, and she frowns at "Give Your Man the Orgasm That Will Leave Him Speechless." John shortly wonders if Wren knows what an orgasm is.

"What is an orgasm, John?" Bugger. He clears his throat hoping to silence her but a middle age mother with a baby slobbering the handle from her handbag sharply turns around. Her face is coloured with righteous indignation, and John quickly stands between her and Wren, shielding the redhead and facing her. The last thing he needs is some uptight cow to frighten his ginger.

"Wren," he starts softly and she lifts at him her wide open, trustful peepers. Blimey, all deities help him. "That is… when a person… when it's very pleasurable..." She blinks three times, her eyebrows lifted in a funny questioning expression. Bugger, what are the fancy and medieval words for it? He wishes he has consulted his sister's romance novels. There must be something there. Vague memories from school feebly thrash in his mind. Something from Shakespeare, something about a beast with two backs, but that's not it. Besides this, he has nothing. And then he remembers and shortly hopes he is not bodging it up. "It's a climax, Wren. During the intimacy between two people. It's what one experiences." He decides to revise his previous statement. "Or alone, one can get it alone." It's like giving a sex talk to a teen, except this one is definitely of age, and it's twice as difficult for him, because he really didn't need a mental image of her red lips pronouncing 'orgasm' and 'John' in one sentence. He also suspects that modern teens don't go that bright red from discussing this topic, and a twelve year old pupil from Blackpool would know more about it than John himself.

His own accidental pupil gasps and hides her face behind her small narrow hands. "I should never ask for any explanation from you when we are in public," she squeaks from behind her hands, "Maiar help me, that is most embarassing. Oh..." A soft moan she emits leaves John slightly disturbed. But then she drops her hands, and her face is aghast. "But it is displayed where everyone could see! And it is educational! Are people here that open regarding such matters?"

The queue moves. John is feeling he is hardly competent enough to explain to her the social, religious and health significance and the meaning behind sex in twenty first century Western world. He quickly grabs the magazine and adds it into the trolley.

"How about we take it, and you can then google and Wikipedia it to your content and let your impressive intellect see for itself?" He smiles to her, her cheeks are burning, and she moves closer and beckons him to bend down.

"If we buy it, the lady we will be disbursing will postulate I am to read this magazine, and she will obviously make a natural assumption that you and I are associated and that I will consult this book later in our intimacy," Wren is whispering frantically, he is trying not to stare at her lips.

"Everyone buys them, Wren, and no one actually takes their advice seriously. They are full of rubbish. And again, maybe you are interested in fashion section in it." He pokes the cover with the words "Best Winter Picks," and she nervously twitches her nose. He has studied his ginger well by now, he knows she wants it. He decisively approaches the checkout. The cashier rings Cosmo through without the second glance, John hears Wren exhale behind his back in relief.

* * *

><p><em>Later the same day<em>

John is pretending to be watching telly while his ginger is sitting at the desk they put for her in the living room. The magazine is on her lap, she is reading, occasionally quickly typing something into Google, apparently lots requires clarification. Suddenly the whole screen is covered with pictures of… well, bollocks, there is no other way to best describe it. Male testicles photographed from all possible angles decorate the screen, Wren squeaks and quickly slams the Mac lid closed. She so wasn't checking the fashion section.


	6. Middle Earth Wren vs Torque

"Alright, Wren, close your fingers around it and hold firmly."

"Um… John, I am not certain we should..."

"Common, love, you can do it. Millions of people do it."

"And women?"

"Of course, darling, women even more than men. And I will tell you a secret, women are much better at this. So common, wrap your little hands around it and go for it."

"But it is so hard, John..."

"It is very responsive, darling, just a gentle move of your wrist, and it is going. Don't worry, I'm here with you."

"Um..."

"See, it's not that scary once it starts, right?"

"It is terrifying, John! It is so large, and wide… It's massive!"

"Darling, I assure you there are much bigger ones, and women manage them very much brilliantly. Right… Right… You are doing ace… Don't rush it, let it slide… Good..."

"Oh… My head is spinning, John… Could you take it for an instant? I think I need a pause..."

"No, darling, you are in charge of it now, you have to keep on going. You are doing great, just breathe and do what comes naturally."

"Can I turn it like this? I am rather worried about that ridge."

"Oh, of course, you can go any way you want. Just be careful… Um, Wren? Darling… It's a bit too harsh! Perhaps..."

"Oh I am sorry. I will refrain from this but it just seemed to jerk on its own..."

"Well, love, if you do not want it to burst into action, do not pull it like this. Um, Wren? You do see the tree, right?"

"What tree?"

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!"

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"John, I do not think I should be allowed to drive your automobile."

"I think so too."


	7. Middle Earth Wren vs Theoretical Basis

**A/N: This universe features Bri (Wynni's OC) and Reese (RagdollPricess' OC). **

**Bri is Phil/Fili's American fiancee (prepare for the Southern sass :D), and Reese is her wedding planner, a Canadian living in this AU Britain.**

* * *

><p>{Written by kkolmakov}<p>

Reese is quickly jolting down the notes into her iPad, while Wren is standing on the podium in the bridal tailor's salon. The seamstress is rushing around, Wren is faring more pins than a hedgehog, but she is standing patiently. The seamstress gives Reese a discreet "awww" expression pointing at the redhead with her eyes, and Reese nods understandingly. Both of them rarely have to deal with so well-behaved bridesmaids. Wren has been summoned into the salon in the middle of the day, on a Wednesday, she came on time, gratefully accepted a cup of tea and since then has been silent and obedient like a well trained German shepherd.

When Reese was first informed by the happy bride to be that there is a replacement among bridesmaids, only years of working in special events organising and dealing with all kinds of Bridezillas stopped Reese from groaning. The bridesmaids' dresses were already made and their shoes were ordered, and now Reese was expected to replace a tall busty blonde with a tiny redhead. Thankfully the dresses were green with bronze brocade, a redhead would be fine, but again, she needed a new dress. When she entered the salon for the first time, the seamstress whispered under her breath, "At least no tits. It's easy to cut for such a twig." Reese smirked, it was true, Wren Leary was as flat as they make them, pale and minuscule.

Reese liked Wren instantly, she is calm and friendly, in a soft but detached manner, but it quickly becomes obvious that there is something very much off with the redhead. She is probably around 25 but her eyes are astonishingly innocent, almost childish, she seems naive and, well… virginal. She's collected, has wonderful manners, fluid motions, but sometimes behind all this facade Reese can guess that more often than not Wren is unsure what to do and what is going on. She has a vague British accent, Reese has lived here for several years now. She understands that Phil and his family are from the North, but Wren sounds different. Reese isn't sure but she assumes it must be some Irish dialect, considering the last name. Reese's overall assumption is that Wren grew up in an orphanage with nuns. How else one explains the complete artfulness and the purity of a freaking white dove?

The bride in this wedding is American, from Alabama, and when she shows up at the end of October announcing that one of the bridesmaids "that waffleheaded ditz done run off" on her and now "John's sweet little roomie's standin' in," Reese imagines how Bri Davis, soon to be Durinson, all curls and curves and the Southern fiery attitude, steamrolls into a workplace of John's unfortunate cousin, who was initially supposed to take this position, and the poor blonde gets asked to move over. Bri's matchmaking efforts are obvious to everybody, except perhaps Wren herself.

Initially Reese assumes that the redhead and John are an item, he often drops her off, if all the family is present they sit together, and she is his plus one on every event during the whole wedding, rehearsal dinner and such. But Bri explains that "Wren's just a roomie, not a lovie, so live-in not a love-in." Apparently it is so, and apparently Bri isn't satisfied with status quo. Reese shakes her head, it's none of her business, but she feels almost sorry for the redhead. It doesn't look like she has any choice. But again, considering the genes in this family, Reese doesn't think Wren should complain.

The seamstress barks 'Don't move a muscle' and disappears in the back room, and Reese notices that Wren is completely immobile.

"She didn't mean literally, you can move. Just don't mess her stitching," Reese gives Wren a warm smile, and receives a beaming one in return. There are a few minutes of comfortable silence, Reese is working, Wren is looking at herself in the mirror. The dress really compliments her, the strapless top shows her delicate pale shoulders, she has a long neck and a sexy back, and Reese shortly wonders how John survives when this is wandering his apartment. If they are indeed not together. Obviously there is a chance he is not interested, but all Bri talks about while seamstresses run around her with pieces of silk and lace is how perfect these two can be together, and how "he's head over heels for Wren. That man is fair to droolin to start kissin' at the top and not stop til her last little toe's savored like a fine wine." Reese cares little, but she likes musing about sexual tension filled situations. If John is indeed head over heels, Reese would love to see the living hell he goes through when coming home.

"Reese, may I ask you a question?" Wren has a peculiar manner of speech. It is very bookish, almost poetic, but it doesn't feel like she is trying too hard, which was Reese's first thought. She assumed Wren was just provincial and was trying to seem smart, but pretty quickly it became obvious her melodic, posh speech was natural. An orphanage with nuns, Reese confirms to herself, some castle with green moss on the walls and a large library of appropriate literature. She wonders if Wren can embroider and grow vegetables, or whatever those nuns do in their free time.

"Shoot," Reese sees Wren's face waver in confusion, "I mean, yeah, ask your question of course." Wren is once again staring at herself in the mirror and starts chewing at her bottom lip.

"There is a certain notion among women, and do not misunderstand me, I do not condemn it, but I am confused." She looks at Reese askew and gets an encouraging smile. "It seems there is a certain allure in firefighters in this culture. And it seems that they are considered more eminent, more desirable than other men, purely based on their vocation. I have asked Bri for clarification but all she said was that they are 'squee inducing' and 'nommy,' and I was embarrassed to ask for more of her time. She is under a lot of strain these days. Also, she can hardly be considered impartial, she is after all enamoured with one of them. You seem like a woman of impeccably sound judgement. So, what is it that makes men of fire service so exceptionally enticing for women here?"

Reese feels her draw drop. It isn't so much the question itself, as this strange academic approach the redhead is taking. And then Reese thinks that out of women Wren could have asked she is funnily the worst choice. Because Reese actually has a firemen kink. She might have a very specific fetish too, and this wedding is a torture. It's the suspenders. The wide heavy suspenders that lie on their hips, and then her mind shoves a picture of a naked chest to her, and a smear of soot on a cheek, and for god's sake, Reese needs some alone time. Or firemen time, definitely firemen time. She is a professional and has years of experience, but when the groom and his relatives arrive late for a fitting, apologising profoundly while they are climbing out of what they call a 'pumper' here, thank you for the richness of innuendos, and what she would simply call a firetruck, and they are just after a shift, and there is indeed soot, and bulging muscles, and the freaking suspenders, Reese just wants to scream!

On the other hand, Reese has never given it a thought before, but yeah, why do girls dig firemen? Something tells her enlightening Wren about the calendars isn't the right approach. Reese quickly gives it a thought.

"Well, they are physically attractive, because they have to be in a good shape. They do go to gym a lot. And they cook, right? Most of them at least, since they are bored between fires. And most women find it hot." She gives Wren a questioning look. The redhead is listening attentively. She lives with one of them, she should know. The physique in this whole family is exceptional. Maybe John doesn't cook but for those thighs and upper arms it can certainly be forgiven. "And they have heroic job, I guess, it makes them more masculine, sort of more macho..." Wren looks like she is memorizing what Reese is saying and that throws Reese off. That's a hell lot responsibility to educate someone, and definitely not part of her job responsibilities.

"Heroic? As in a warrior?"

"You can say that. They do save lives and to do so they run around with giants tools, like axes and stuff, so yeah, like warriors, just no swords." That gets the redhead's full attention, not that she wasn't listening before, but now her strange slanted eyes are focused on Reese. It's uncomfortably intense.

"But what about soldiers? Or militia… police?" Reese wonders what she got herself into. All this analysis for a simple kink!

"Well, there is all this question of police brutality... And I mean, wars these days, for some it's a questionable thing. While with firemen it's simple, they risk their lives to save others." Reese is pleased with herself, that was a rather insightful answer. Wren is pondering it, and Reese thinks that the redhead looks like a little computer processing data. She is really weird, to think of it, not in a bad way, just fascinating. And something tells Reese that she shouldn't remind this little nymph about all the firemen role playing and adult videos and the suspenders and the yellow pants. Reese is feeling suddenly hot.

"So, they are contemporary warriors that have a noble quest and on the other hand possess domestic skills, which potentially makes them desirable spouses and fathers..." That would be a very decent explanation, but Reese still thinks it has something to do with naked torso calendars and all those muscles and the giant… tools.

"Yeah, I guess." The redhead nods, and then her turn up nose scrunches, and she frowns.

"I will be honest with you, Reese, I suspect that besides all these thoughtful arguments you have brought up, which definitely explain why women here are instantly enamoured with fire service men, I think the firefighters' allure might also lie in the uniform. It is endlessly masculine and emphasizes their physical merits. Those heavy trousers, and boots, and..." The small redhead sighs deeply and wistfully, clenching small hands in front of her chest, her slanted eyes clouded and unfocused, and breathes out, her unimpressive chest heaving, "And the suspenders..."

Reese really shouldn't have agreed on this contract!


	8. Middle Earth Wren vs Burst Pipes

**A/N: Just a reminder that most drabbles, including this one, take place between the time Wren moves in with John and the time they get together :)**

**And also, I think I need to note that the drabbles have no rhyme or reason, and lack any substance and plot whatsoever. These verse was born as a distraction from the worst Christmas I have had in my life, and they are as light as they come. Wynni and RagdollPrincess were invited to frolic in the verse as well because one should always invite friends over to share treats :)**

**Hope you have a chuckle out of them too :)**

* * *

><p>They are driving to a job, and John is struggling with the helmet strap. His mind is working quickly through what they know, but he suspects it's one of those 'save the basement' fires, meaning all they can do it contain the damage but the building is kaputt.<p>

Bofurson is loudly discussing a pre-Christmas pre-party, everyone is to pitch in, it's a pub crawl, and how is the Mick managing to yell over the sirens?

"Thorington, me thinks you're the cat's pyjamas. Pitch in! Your wee fine thing won't mind." Thorington uses the chance before he put on his breathing apparatus and cocks a brow at the Irishman. Sometimes his men need reminding who's alpha here. It works. "No disrespect to the better half. She's a sound feek." The git gives it another mo and then adds, "Sir."

John chuckles and pulls on his helmet. The pumper stops, he turns to Killian who gives him thumbs up, and all hell breaks loose!

* * *

><p>They are back at the station, pulling off the uniform and lazily chin wagging, when Dwalinson comes up to Bofurson and smashes his giant, spade like palm into the Irishman's chest. The Mick sways, but that's just the Scotsman pitching in.<p>

"Here's puckle, you roaster," Dwalinson growls and leaves for showers. There will be a five finger bearing imprint on Bofurson's chest. The Irishman mumbles something, and the money disappears in his wallet. And that's when John realises he forgot his at home.

He lives ten minute walk from the station, and there is another person in his flat, so he picks up his mobile and rings up his ginger.

"Hello, John!" She always sounds like getting a phone call from him is Christmas and her birthday coming on the same day, unexpectedly, in July. He picks himself up, out of the puddle of soppy adoration he turned into, and asks her to bring the wallet if she was going anywhere. She happily announces she was on her way to the library and will be delighted.

* * *

><p>Wren is walking into the station, she is carefully carrying a box of Scottish tablet, she has tried a new recipe this morning. She jumps over uncoiled hoses, they are probably just back from a job, and on the way she meets Killian. She receives the widest sunniest grin, and he grabs her around the waist and swirls her. She is squeaking, they both know that's part of the game, and then he snatches a sweet square from the box. She tut-tuts, he pecks her cheek and disappears in one of the rest rooms.<p>

She goes up the stairs, enters the common room and freezes at the doors. It is full of barechested men. At least so it seems to Wren, who feels heat spilling on her cheeks and at the back of her neck, and she can hardly suppress the squeak. As hard as she is trying not to, her eyes still manage to catch the golden swirls of hair on Phil's broad chest, the Dwalinson's salt and pepper fur, with a wide jagged scar going across the right shoulder and the pectoral muscle, and she just had to be so lucky, John's… everything. She swirls on her heels and bursts out of the room. She is hoping they were too engaged in yelling at each other over a snooker game to notice her.

She leaves the box and John's wallet with Gloinson whom she bumps into during her hasty escape and rushes home. She needs to bake something. She is shock, it is just not her day.

* * *

><p>(No, it's not. It's the day when a pipe burst in the station and flooded the lockers with the firefighters' civilian clothes.)<p> 


	9. Middle Earth Wren vs Bouncing Bum Bow

**A/N: Again, the drabble takes place while Wren and John are flatmates, but not an item. Bri, Wynni's OC is Phil's bride, a lovely bubbly American, and the drabble of how her and Wren have become mates will be posted soon :D**

* * *

><p><strong>{Co-written with <span>Wynni<span>}**

Wren has finished watching _The Wrath of Khan_ half an hour ago, but she is still bedraggled by Spock's death, and then her mobile telephone rings.

"Heyas Wren, how're you this evening?" Bri's voice is gleeful, but then she notices Wren's stuffy nose and scratchy voice, "What's wrong? Did Big'n'Buff screw up? Tell me he did and I'll come kick his ass from here to glory."

"Oh, no, of course not. John is on a night shift today. And Bri, he would never! I have been watching a film and a character passed away, and..." Wren's voice breaks, and she delicately sniffs into a tissue.

"Oh chick, I get it, you can't know how I bawled like a baby over Old Yeller, Obi Wan, Mercutio, and twentyleven dozen others. It can hurt like a sonovagun. I know what you need! A PJ party!" Bri's voice is a squeal, and Wren squirms on the li-lo. She really isn't cordial towards the idea of a crowd at the moment, and also she is certain under no circumstances she wants to show other people her night garments. She emits a pensive 'um,' but then Bri remembered whom she is conversing with, "Oh, it ain't a real party. It's just us hanging out together in our PJ's, eatin' pizza and popcorn, and drinkin' enough co-cola to float the Titanic, and singing karaoke."

Wren doesn't know what karaoke is and she is planning to let Bri know once she arrives that Wren has no talent for singing, but spending time in Bri's company is a very exciting idea. They quickly arrange time, and Wren rushes in the kitchen to prepare refreshments. She also pulls out a new set she purchased last week. A girl assisting her in the lingerie shop explained to her that the material was called flannel, and Wren immediately took fancy to the pair of red and white checkered shorts, as well as the white sleeveless shirt that the girl called a vest. The vest is slightly too narrow for Wren's taste, it clings to her skin, but she reminds herself she is to spend the evening in the female company. The flat is warm, John keeps the temperature high for Wren's sake, and Wren changes twisting in front the tall mirror in her room. John brought in from a place called Eye Key Ya, and then laughed for a long time at Wren's confusion when she tried to google it. She turns her back to the mirror, and with pleasure she sees a playful bow on her waist above her buttocks. It is red and has a festive feel to it. The shop assistant winked to Wren and said, "I bet he'll enjoy unwrapping this gift, love." Wren blushed heavily of course, but even the insinuations of the girl did not stop her from purchasing it. The fabric is soft, and Wren feels warm and free in this attire. She has developed quite a taste to the garments of this world. They are less restricting than anything she has ever worn home.

Bri arrives like a gust of stormy wind, carrying myriads of bags, her gorgeous soft hair in a halo around her head, bright emerald scarf around her neck. She sheds her jacket, untangles out of her outer garments, and soon enough she is standing in front of Wren in a rather remarkable attire. It is a one piece garment, made of what Wren now knows is called fleece, it has buttons up front and covers Bri's legs and feet. Overall, Wren has seen such garments of babes. Bri's one is bright purple, and Wren thinks that Bri looks charming. But Wren is concerned.

"Bri, you might be overdressed. The flat is rather warm. Do you have a spare garment?"

"No worries! I got it covered," Bri announces merrily and pulls out a tee and much lighter trousers out of another of her numerous packages. She quickly changes in the bathroom and hopping out of it, she proclaims, "Alright, Wren, first things first. Food goes on the table, we turn on the funkiest music there is and dance our butts off." The bags are pushed into Wren's hands, and the hurricane that is Bri Davis, soon to be Durinson picks Wren up and twirls her.

* * *

><p>An hour later <em>Harleys &amp; Indians<em> is blaring from John's Mac plugged into loudspeakers, and the girls are dancing in the middle of the living room. It took Bri about half an hour to breach Wren's defense lines and now the redhead is twirling and hopping, and Bri squeals, "Woooohoooo Wren! You are smokin! Daaang girl can you dance! With that perky little luscious backside, you should be able to shake it like a maraca."

Wren is laughing, this is such a strange world! She has realised after a while that her unassuming appearance seems to be favoured here, and although she is not the person to build her sense of self-worth on male attentions, she finds living in this bizarre place has its benefits. It is pleasant to not stand out or be looked down at.

"Wren, check this out. This here's a belly dancer's move. Watch my hips! Shakira, eat your heart out." Wren watches Bri with widened eyes.

"Bri, I could never replicate that! Unlike you," Wren looks at Bri's enticing curves, "I do not possess the right..." Wren trails away and vaguely gestured around her hips.

"Equipment?" Wren giggles bashfully, Bri is grinning widely, "And don't be ridiculous, it's not about the size of your Schwartz, it's about how well you can handle it." Wren giggles again.

"I know this line, Bri, John showed me the film last week."

"Good for him. Man's got good taste." Bri rushes to the laptop, and a new song starts. "It's called _I like to Move It_ and it's perfect for you to shake your little tailfeathers the best way possible." Wren decides to enjoy life in all its extraordinary facets and obliges. They spend another half an hour 'shaking their tailfeathers' and at some point Bri points at the dark screen of John's telly. Wren can see her reflection, and she starts laughing loudly. The bow is red and bright and its cadence is rather sensual. Wren blushes but again, no one will see it but Bri.

* * *

><p>They are sitting on John's li-lo eating icecream from the small pails Bri brought it in. Wren would assume the dish is to be served in bowls but Bri explains that "it don't taste right on a plate, it goes flat or some such." Wren likes ice cream, the ones she tried before were excessively sweet, but Green Tea Frozen Yogurt turns out just perfect, and the coldness is exciting. She shortly thinks that just for this treat she wouldn't want to leave this world.<p>

"So, Wren," Bri drawls out, "Just presactly how does our dear darling Dark 'n' Dangerous strike you?" Wren freezes with a full spoon of ice cream in her mouth. She clenches the handle and gives Bri a questioning look. Bri is staring at her expectantly, and Wren swallows with difficulty.

"What do you mean, Bri?"

"I mean, Sugarbelle, if'n you crooked your littlest finger the right way, it'd be wearin' a ring in no time." At this moment Wren regrets that instead of classes of Spanish that she is taking in the rehab, they do not offer any Bri tongue education. Crooked fingers remind Wren of rheumatism, and she does not understand the significance of a ring. To gain some time she stuffs another spoonful of Green Tea Yogurt in her mouth and cringes from excruciating pain between her brows.

"Bri," Wren's voice is tortured, "Could you please be more clear? What are you asking me about?"

"Oh for pity's sake. John likes you like horses like clover, Shug. How do you feel about him?" Little became clearer to Wren, but at least now she understands the topic of their conversation.

"I do think John is cordial towards me too, Bri," Wren smiles softly, "And I am endlessly grateful to him for everything he has done for me. I still cannot believe my fortune, to encounter him the moment I..." Wren's speech is interrupted by a loud thud of Bri's head making contact with the table surface. Wren freezes with her mouth half-open, and Bri straightens up and gives her a glare.

"Wren, do you mean to tell me all you feel is grateful towards that man?"

"Of course not!" Wren's hands fly up in the air in an energetic gesture, "I am happy to say I consider us friends. We spend such lovely time together, and we share many pursuits, and..." Wren's voice trails away under a sardonically cocked brow of her friend.

Wren pretends to be very interested in the Nutrition Value notice on the ice cream pail as she herself knows her answer was hardly all truth. No, she is not allowing herself think about how dear John is to her, and how fragile her current bliss is. If she doesn't confess even to herself what she feels, he will never find out, and her unrequited feelings for him will not cause awkwardness and she won't have to leave his flat and his life. Wren decides they should find something else to entertain themselves with, instead of repeatedly stabbing her heart with a dull knife.

"I think we should dance some more, Bri!" She feigns a cheerful disposition.

"I have a better idea!" Bri rushes to the parlour and comes back with two odd objects. They are circles, colourful, large, and Bri hands one to Wren. "Time to hula hoop til you droop! Uh, slang for 'tuckered out,' 'tired' that is."

And then Bri suddenly puts one of the hoops around herself, and all Wren can do is stare at her in complete shock. Wren has seen all sorts of street performers in her youth but that is magnificent! Colourful lights blink in the circle, and Bri's gorgeous hips move confidently and enticingly, the hoop travels from her neck down to her knees, and up again. She is wearing a happy, slightly smug grin, and Wren can't help but start clapping to her friend. Bri swings her hips one more time, somehow makes the hoop jump up, catches it with her hand and merrily bows to Wren. More applause follows.

"Your turn, Wren!" No amount of mumbling and backing to the door helps, Bri struggles Wren into her hoop, and education starts. Twenty minutes later Wren feels less humiliated since the hoops seems to stay longer in the air, and after a while she starts thinking that might become her favourite pastime. At some point Bri points at the telly again, laughing loudly, and Wren is twisting her head trying to see how her bow is faring.

* * *

><p>A burning piece of ceiling hits John's shoulder, the pain is sharp, and he swears. That's a dislocated shoulder alright. He tumbles out of the building, Dwalinson tries to help and haul his 'eejit malkied chufter' to the ladder, and John scowls at him. Been there, done that. He heavily drops on the bench outside and lets Phil patch him up. The kid is their medic and a wizard. John's appreciation for his nephew ebbs a bit when in one forceful move Phil nonchalantly puts the shoulder where it belongs, causing John grind his teeth. He can't mention Phil's mother since that would be insulting his own kin, but there clearly was a gentler way to do it! Phil smacks his healthy shoulder and walks back to the pumper to get him a sling. John leans back on the bench heavily. At least he can go home and have some peace there. Wren is probably studying, she'll make him a cuppa and will fuss around him. He feels immediately chuffed and doesn't even object to Phil's long bossy instructions. He is nodding and just wants to go to his ginger.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Bri's POV:<strong>

Standing in the door, is the poster child for the expression "deer in the headlights." The first thing Bri notices is the wide vacant eyes and the hanging jaw. It takes a minute for the sling, soot, and thoroughly bedraggled appearance to register. Nope, the very first thing the inveterate matchmaker sees is how very, very much John Thorington likes what he sees of his hula hooping houseguest.

The statue of the station officer starts to come to life as a muscle ticks furiously in his jaw, either grinding teeth now, or trying to force words out. Sweat on his brow could have been from the fire, but Bri'd lay odds it has more to do with the bouncing butt bow. For a second, Bri wonders if there is a train track near the house, but no, THAT particular huffing and puffing is poor John trying to catch his breath. Time to put the poor man out of his misery.

"Welcome home, John, what happened?" The ensuing squeak from Wren is totally worth it. Now Bri wonders who ordered the game of statues, because Wren's gone stone still, the hoop's on the floor, and her eyes are about to swallow her face. Well, she knows one way to wake Wrennielove up.

"Wren, somethin's happened to John's shoulder." Bri sits back to watch the mayhem unfold.

Gone is the squeaky, mild, and slightly childlike waif afraid of herself and the world around her. In her place is a self assured medical professional. Her touches are deft, soft, and thorough. The questions are to the point and no prevaricating, please. More than once, John finds himself facing an eyebrow lift that would do Bri proud at one dodged question or another.

Bri also gleefully takes in the rising color on John's cheeks. His eyes just keep cutting to the bouncing butt bow. Bri has to cough into her hand to hide her rising laughter. These two are already so in love, she doubts it'd take more than a few months for them to straighten themselves out. Not that it would stop her, of course.

"Wren, Wren, it's just a scratch," John is mumbling, only to get shushed. Careful fingers probe at his ribs, eliciting a hysterical guffaw he can't suppress. Bri chokes on her laughter, both hands covering her mouth. Ticklish ribs must be a family thing. Maybe it'll solve itself sooner than she thinks, if this keeps up.

Wren grabs John by his wrist, who is very purposefully NOT looking at her pert little backside, and leads him to the li-lo, pushing him down on it. However, all his hard won self control is out the door the minute Wren picks up the empty ice cream tubs, because that bloomin' bow is right there in front of him. He rubs his face with his good hand. The fingers are slightly trembling. Bri's pretty sure that it's not from the fire or dislocated shoulder, but face full of bouncing butt bow.

At this point, the similarities between Uncle and nephew are becoming a little too uncomfortable for her. Phil has those same half lidded sultry eyes and now John is openly gritting his teeth, and time for Bri to go!

"And three's a crowd! I'll see you crazy kids later, tomaters!" Bri makes a hasty round up of her bags, heck, she can come get the rest in the morning, and hauls out of there at ludicrous speed wearing nothing but her PJ's and fuzzy slippers. She is so glad she insisted on driving her car tonight.


End file.
